


Praise Song for My Mother

by Mystradigans



Series: Fics Based On Poems I Have To Study For GCSE English Lit [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Coming Out, Inspired by Poetry, Loss, M/M, Memories
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-27
Updated: 2015-01-27
Packaged: 2018-03-09 08:29:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3243023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mystradigans/pseuds/Mystradigans
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mycroft reflects on his relationship with his mother.</p><p>Based on the poem by Grace Nichols</p>
            </blockquote>





	Praise Song for My Mother

**Author's Note:**

> By Emily. Another one of my GCSE poems because.. revision. The bits in 'singular flying comma things' are quotes from the poem.

'You were  
water to me  
deep and bold and fathoming'

read Mycroft to those gathered, his mind wandering already. One particular memory that sprang to mind: him as an over-enthusiastic eight-year-old nattering about Science as Mummy fastened Sherlock in his buggy.

"That's amazing, My" she'd told him, though she was busy and Mycroft was clearly in the way. "What do you think would happen if you put the plant in the cupboard with a lamp to one side?"

He considered the question, already planning out an experiment to test it.

"When Sherlock's bigger" he said. "I'm going to teach him all about Science"

Mummy had smiled. "Sherlock's a lucky boy to have a brother like you"

 

'You were  
moon’s eye to me  
pull and grained and mantling'

Mycroft remembered being fifteen, and stumbling through a confession with a pink face and teary eyes- sure that his mother would hate him when she found out what he was. She was so quick to reassure him that her love was unconditional no matter who he was attracted to.

"You are my son, and I could never be anything but proud of you" she'd murmured, her arms tightly around him as he cried into her shoulder. Mycroft realised how silly he had been to worry- she'd always encouraged her sons to be themselves. She was amazing like that.

'You were  
sunrise to me  
rise and warm and streaming'

"What shall we do about Sherlock?" Mycroft had asked her three years ago. His little brother was using again, had been since John married Mary and he knew Mummy would be able to help where he couldn't.

"Support him, be there for him" said Mummy. "He's lucky to have a brother who cares as much as you do"

"We are both lucky to have you for a mother" he replied.

"I won't be around forever, you know" Mummy pointed out.

"What?" Mycroft protested. "Don't be ridiculous. Of course you will"

Mummy smiled sadly and changed the subject to "that nice Inspector" as Mycroft blushed and complained about her trying to push him down the aisle.

'You were  
the fishes red gill to me  
the flame tree’s spread to me  
the crab’s leg  
the fried plantain smell  
replenishing replenishing'

Mycroft blinked back tears and offered a weak smile at the mourners gathered before him. Gregory, sitting in the third row back, returned it sympathetically. Sherlock wasn't crying, merely staring at the coffin that contained their Mother as if trying to comprehend what could not be true.

He wouldn't be able to. Mycroft couldn't either. Mummy had been a constant in both of their lives, something to be relied upon, certain as the sun. But his mother had not raised him to be dependent on her, she would want him to move foreword in her memory.

'Go to your wide futures, you said'


End file.
